Chapter 13 #2
“I am not hiding her away,” he replied.
“You are confining her; it is the same thing,” Charlotte said.
Victor’s jaw clenched. “I am protecting her.”
“From what?” Charlotte demanded. “Society? Conversation? Happiness?”
“Humiliation,” he answered flatly. “The last thing I shall allow is for my grandmother to become the object of cruel whispers.”
Charlotte softened slightly at the tension in his voice, but only slightly.
“She was happy at Hyde Park,” Charlotte argued. “She smiled the entire day.”
“She also announced our engagement to half of London, and before that she called a man her husband,” Victor said sternly.
“That is hardly a tragedy,” Charlotte said.
“It is for me. I value honor, Miss Brown, and I will have it for every member of my family,” he said.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “You are very dramatic for a man who pretends to feel nothing.”
Victor gave a low laugh. “And you are very bold for a woman who constantly tells herself she dislikes me.”
“I do dislike you.”
“Liar.”
Her cheeks warmed furiously. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet here you stand.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before lifting again. “Again. It's my favorite phrase, as you said so yourself.”
Charlotte immediately looked away, cursing herself for noticing the movement.
Ever since the opera, she had become painfully aware of him at all times.
His voice lingered in her thoughts, his touch haunted her skin, and worst of all was the fact that she now understood precisely how dangerous his charm could be.
Victor resumed walking, and she followed despite herself. “You grow too attached to my grandmother’s wishes,” he said.
“She deserves joy,” she said.
“Yes, and she deserves dignity,” he said.
“Can she not have both?” Charlotte said.
He glanced at her sharply. “You speak as though you know better than I do.”
Charlotte lifted her chin. “Perhaps I do in this matter.”
Victor huffed a laugh under his breath. “God help me, you truly fear nothing.”
“Oh, I fear many things,” she muttered.
His eyes flickered toward her. “Do you?”
Charlotte instantly regretted saying it aloud.
She feared him most of all lately. Not because he was cruel, for he was not truly cruel beneath all his arrogance, but because she no longer trusted herself around him.
Every glance from him seemed to loosen something inside her that she had spent years carefully controlling.
Victor slowed beside a rose arbor. “And what is it you fear, Charlotte?”
The sound of her Christian name upon his lips sent a ridiculous shiver down her spine.
“At present?” she replied lightly. “That your grandmother shall never forgive you if she misses the opening ball.”
“She shall survive the disappointment,” he said.
“She shall pout and be upset,” Charlotte said.
“She is seventy-six years old, not a child,” Victor said.
“So… she shall pout elegantly,” Charlotte replied with annoyance.
Victor barked out a genuine laugh, then, warm and sudden. Charlotte stared at him before she could stop herself.
Good heavens. The man becomes devastating when he smiles properly.
His amusement faded slowly as he caught her looking. “There it is again.”
“What?” she asked too quickly.
“That look.” He stepped closer. “You stare at me as though you cannot decide whether to slap me or kiss me.”
Charlotte’s breath caught. “You think very highly of yourself.”
“No,” he murmured. “I simply think of the way you look at me.”
The garden suddenly felt too warm. The scent of roses hung thick in the air, and Charlotte became acutely aware of how close he stood. If she leaned forward even slightly, she could touch him. That realization alone nearly undid her.
“You are trying to distract me,” she accused softly.
Victor took another slow step toward her. “Is it working?”
“No.”
“But you hesitated.” He grinned.
Charlotte’s pulse fluttered wildly as his gaze lowered once more to her lips. “Your Grace…”
“Victor,” he corrected quietly.
Her heart gave an entirely unnecessary leap. They stood far too close now. Charlotte could feel the heat of him even through the layers of their clothing, and when his hand brushed lightly against her wrist, she nearly forgot her own name.
This is madness. Absolute madness.
“You are impossible to argue with when you stand so near,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
A slow smile curved his mouth. “That sounds dangerously like encouragement.”
“It was not,” she said.
“Pity,” he said with a low husky whisper.
His fingers curled gently around her hand, and Charlotte looked up at him just as his face dipped lower. The world seemed to narrow to his eyes, his mouth, the warmth of his touch. She thought he might kiss her. Worse still, she thought she might let him.
At the last possible second, Charlotte stepped back. “Your grandmother should attend the ball,” she said breathlessly. “That was the matter at hand.”
Victor stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose and released her hand. “You are relentless.”
“I prefer determined,” she replied.
He dragged a hand through his dark hair. “Fine.”
Charlotte blinked. “Fine?”
“My grandmother may attend the ball.”
Her face lit instantly. “Truly?”
Victor looked positively tortured by her delight. “You weaponize that smile.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” he muttered. “And I resent it greatly.”
Charlotte laughed softly, unable to help herself.
Victor stared at her for another dangerous second before abruptly stepping away.
“Enjoy your victory, Miss Brown.” With that, he turned and strode back down the hedge-lined path without another word.
Charlotte remained rooted beneath the roses long after he disappeared. Her pulse still raced wildly, and the memory of his nearness lingered like heat against her skin. This arrangement was becoming perilous.
Because for one terrifying moment, I truly believed the duke intended to kiss me again. So why didn't he?